


Days Gone By

by A_New_World_To_Be_Won



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac is my life, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Pining Grantaire, Takes place over a while, lots of fluff and pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_New_World_To_Be_Won/pseuds/A_New_World_To_Be_Won
Summary: Grantaire fell in love with Enjolras when they were five.So many years later, not much has changed.In which Enjolras is oblivious, Grantaire pines, and Courfeyrac is... well... Courfeyrac.





	Days Gone By

**Seventeen years ago**

    The room is bright, and it is filled with chatter and laughter. Girls and boys run around, desperate to enjoy their free time in the best way that they can. Some flock to the dress-up area, others to the reading nook, and still others to the big box of blocks that sit in the middle of the rug. There is a sandbox, and an art table as well. Let us direct our attention to the art table, where two boys are sitting, the only two there at the moment. Crayons of all colors have been laid in a neat row in no particular order across the center of the table, and a boy is furiously coloring, picking up a new crayon every so often. A boy wearing a red t-shirt has slightly disrupted this arrangement by positioning himself so he is laying on his back on top of the table, accidentally kicking some crayons to the floor.

“R, I wanna _see,_ ” the boy in the red t-shirt whines from atop the table. He has laid himself flat across the table in protest of not being able to see the picture that his friend has spent the last quarter hour on, and golden curls are now partially covering the picture that is being so painstakingly created, but the other boy doesn’t seem to mind.

    “It’s not done yet Enjolras,” he says, and Enjolras huffs, and sits up. He looks down at the messy black curls of the boy and tries to get a peek at the picture. The boy is too quick for him, however, and pulls the picture off of the table and into his lap.

    “Gran _taire,_ ” Enjolras whines, and Grantaire smiles. He loves hearing Enjolras say his name, he likes how it sounds. Enjolras puts a slight accent on it that nobody else does, and the name that he normally doesn’t like that much comes out sounding so much better from the other boy’s lips.

    Two other boys come running over. One is wearing a gray t-shirt with a moth on it and plastic blue glasses, while the other is wearing overalls with a orange t-shirt underneath, running a hand through his tangled curls.

    “Enjy, come outside with us,” the overall wearing boy pleads. “R, you need to come too. It’s funner when you guys are there. We actually _play_ stuff. Ferre just looks at bugs.”

    “I play too!” Ferre says indignantly, crossing his arms. The other boy rolls his eyes.

    “I _want_ to play,” Enjolras says. “But Grantaire isn’t done drawing yet. I want to wait and see it.” Ferre is now halfway to the door.

    “Come _on_ Courfeyrac!” he yells, and Courfeyrac shrugs, and runs after his friend. Grantaire picks up a yellow crayon and carefully draws a few more lines, then looks at the paper, holding it a little in front of him. His eyebrows furrow as he judges it, and finally deems it worthy to be seen by others. He slides it back onto the table, and Enjolras snatches it up eagerly, eyes scanning it hungrily.

    “ _Wow,_ Grantaire, this is _super_ good!” Grantaire blushes. Enjolras’s eyes are still roving over the picture, but then he looks confused. “Why am I glowing, R?” he asks.

    “What do you mean?”

    “You drew me like you drew the sun.” He shows Grantaire the picture. In the picture, Enjolras has little rays of yellow crayon shooting off of him.

    “Because you glow,” Grantaire answers simply.

    “R, I’m a person. People don’t glow. Only the sun and the moon and the stars glow. Be serious.”

“I’m too wild,” Grantaire replies, and it that moment, he looks older than his five years.

“I still like it though,” Enjolras decides. “When we grow up, you could be an artist and I’ll be… the President! I can make laws so everyone is happy and everyone shares everything.” He smiles happily. “And you can live with me in the White House! You can be my personal artist.” Grantaire grins.

    “That sounds cool,” he says. “Come on, let’s go outside. Courf and Ferre are waiting.”

    “Okay,” Enjolras agrees, and he jumps off the table and they run outside into the sunshine.

    Now, dear reader, let’s just take a moment to look a little more closely at the picture that Grantaire drew. It’s of the four of them, Grantaire, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre standing in what appears to be a meadow. The grass is represented by green spikes, the typical means of representation for kindergarteners. There is a tree with what appears to be apples hanging off of its branches, and the four friends are standing under it. Enjolras is, in fact, glowing, and the others seem dull in comparison. The work is remarkably well-done for a five year old. In the corner, the young artist has even signed the art, scribbling a capital letter “R” in green crayon, his favorite color. If we were to look even closer, however, we can see what Enjolras did not. Grantaire and Enjolras are standing next to each other, so close that some of Enjolras’s glow has covered Grantaire, and their hands are joined.

The drawing sits there until the four boys come back inside, flushed and smiling, and Grantaire carefully puts the drawing with the four other drawings he’s made today, putting it on the bottom of the stack so nobody will see it. He is strangely relieved that Enjolras didn’t see how he had drawn their hands. He didn’t want him to ask questions as to why he had done it, because what answer could he possibly give?

 

**Eight years ago**

Enjolras is sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the April afternoon by scribbling down ideas for his final essay for Language Arts in his binder. His group of friends has expanded since kindergarten. They’ve met Jehan, a quiet, thoughtful boy (though loud and outgoing when you got to know him) who loves to write, Joly, a hypochondriac who got detention for forging a doctor’s note, and Bossuet, a boy who has the worst possible luck, a case of which is being exhibited right now.

    His new friends, plus Combeferre and Courfeyrac, had been playing a game of frisbee. However, as it so often does, luck had not been Bossuet’s friend today. In pursuit of the frisbee, he had slammed into a tree, and is now trying to reassure a panicked Joly that he does not, in fact, have a concussion. Jehan is helping him in this, but it’s difficult, since he keeps falling into fits of laughter at the look on Joly’s face. Courfeyrac is cracking up next to him, and is being reprimanded by Combeferre, who looks as though he is trying not to laugh as well.

Enjolras looks back down at his paper. He has completely lost his train of thought, and it makes him frustrated. He throws down his pencil, and looks up at the sky.  He is interrupted from this by a cheerful “Hey Apollo,” and the sound of a backpack being thrown to the ground.

He doesn’t recall when, exactly, Grantaire had began calling him Apollo. He supposes it started earlier this year, when they had had their Greek god unit in Social Studies. Their teacher had been teaching them about Apollo, the sun god, and Grantaire had looked at him, and said, in a whisper, “He reminds me of you.” No explanation, just five simple words. A few weeks later, it had become his nickname. Now that the eighth grade was almost over and Grantaire had still not divulged why he had began to call Enjolras that, Enjolras was getting more than a little curious.

Grantaire had laid his backpack down on the grass and is now using it like a pillow, doing some math homework. He knows he is probably doing it all wrong, since he almost never pays attention in math, but he still tries. Homework is graded on completion, not correctness. He has been working on the same problem for almost fifteen minutes when Enjolras glances up at him and asks a question.

“Why do you call me that?”

“I greeted you fifteen minutes ago, did it just register now?” Grantaire instantly regrets his tone, but he can’t help it. The blond gets on his nerves sometimes, but he senses that this is a serious question. He wants to answer it the way Enjolras wants it to be answered.

“Be serious.”

“But, my dear Apollo, I am wild.”

“Why am I Apollo?”

Crap. How should he answer this? The right answer is certainly not “because you are the sun to me, filled with fiery passion and beauty and it hurts to look at you sometimes because of it.” Grantaire admitted to himself a long time ago that he is more than a little in love with Enjolras. He knows that Enjolras doesn’t feel the same way, so he tries not to think about it too much. He doesn’t think Enjolras has even bothered to sort out what his sexuality might be. He’s too immersed in the current happenings of the world, organizing student walkouts and speaking at town rallies. They live in a very liberal town that accepts everyone, and he is glad, because he can see how Enjolras thrives here. He just wishes that Enjolras would realize that the world isn’t always like that. People are idiots, and some of them won’t let their views be challenged.

He realizes that Enjolras is still waiting for an answer, and tries to think fast.

“Because you get up every morning at about 5AM to work on protest ideas. Also your sunny attitude,” he jokes. Enjolras snorts, his attitude is anything but sunny, but drops the subject. They work in peace for a little while. Grantaire has abandoned his math homework in favor of his sketchbook. He never shows anyone this, _especially_ not Enjolras. Why? Because this sketchbook is filled entirely with drawings of Enjolras. Grantaire hates them all. He can never get them just right, never can get the eyes to burn with passion or the hair to be the correct shade of gold. They pale in comparison to the real thing. Yet for some reason, he keeps making them, keeps drawing Enjolras even though he knows that they will never be good enough, _he_ will never be good enough.

Let’s go back to Enjolras now. See how he is glancing at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye? He senses something is wrong. He’s not _entirely_ clueless about emotions, despite what Courfeyrac says. He cares about Grantaire, more than he wants to admit. He cares about him in a way that’s different from the way he cares about their other friends, but he has never allowed himself to dwell on it for too long. He doesn’t understand it fully, and as such, had pushed it to the back of his mind.

Back to Grantaire. He _has_ noticed that Enjolras has been treating him a little differently lately. He’s been… nicer, and laughs at Grantaire’s jokes. Grantaire isn’t one for impulse decisions, that’s more Enjolras’s forte, but he suddenly decides to do something so impulsive, so _unlike_ him, that it startles him for a moment. He doesn’t want to lose the confidence that he so quickly gained, so he clears his throat and asks.

“Have you ever thought about being in a relationship?” Enjolras’s eyebrows shoot up. Way up. Enjolras appears to be thinking about the question. Finally, he turns so that he’s facing Grantaire and can see him better. Grantaire sits up, and puts his sketchpad down (face down of course, he would never live it down if Enjolras sees that all of his time is devoted to drawing him.)

“I mean, I guess I have, in the way that everyone thinks about getting married one day. I don’t know, relationships right now, like at our age I mean, seem kind of pointless. I can’t really see myself with any of my friends, and I don’t really want to.” Grantaire senses that this may not be the best time to ask Enjolras out. After all, he basically just said that he didn’t want a relationship with anyone he knew, or anyone at all. Grantaire doesn’t know how he had been so stupid to even consider that Enjolras might have feelings for him.

He nods curtly, and picks up his sketchbook again. Enjolras’s face looks back at him. He glares at it, and slams the book shut, stuffing it deep into his backpack.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks him. He seems concerned, but Grantaire doesn’t really care.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m going to play frisbee.” He doesn’t look at Enjolras as he gets up and leaves.

It’s a shame, really. If he _had_ bothered to look back at Enjolras, he would have seen the look of disappointment that flashed across Enjolras’s face. If he had looked at Enjolras when he had asked him if he was okay, he would have seen the care and adoration in his eyes. But he didn’t.

 

**Cafe Musain**

They’re in the Cafe Musain, their usual hangout. It’s everyone from middle school, with a few new additions. There’s Feuilly, a Polish man with a nice laugh, Bahorel, a lawyer who hates his field of study with a fiery passion, Marius, an awkward man who goes to law school with Bahorel, whom Courfeyrac had dubbed “too innocent for this world,” and Marius’s girlfriend, Cosette, a spunky girl who was majoring in philosophy with a minor in French literature. Grantaire had brought his friend Eponine, purely because Marius was there. Eponine was a great girl, smart and funny. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, but Grantaire was gay, so he didn’t really care. Even if he did, she was obsessed with Marius, so it wouldn’t matter.

    They have a justice group now, Les Amis de l’ABC, obviously led by Enjolras. He tries to get them to stay on track, but with Courfeyrac there, who can really blame them for having most meetings turn into a thorough analyzation of _Harry Potter_ or a dissection of Courf’s outfit choices throughout the week?

    Grantaire is still not over Enjolras. He’s tried, many times, but given up. He has accepted that he will never be able to date this unapproachable god, and has made himself happy with friendship. Right now, as Courfeyrac tries to get everyone to agree to his flashmob idea ( _obviously_ to promote the Les Amis, not just because he has always wanted to do a flashmob, gosh Ferre how could you even suggest such a thing) Grantaire feels his old feelings surging up again as he looks at Enjolras. The man is looking at Courfeyrac with his mouth slightly open, as if he can’t believe that Courfeyrac spends his free time planning the details of a flashmob.

    _You better believe it Enj,_ Grantaire thinks. Grantaire does live with Courfeyrac, after all. It consists of a lot of glitter and bow ties and re-watching _Mean Girls_ whenever Courf is having a crisis, which is often. The last crisis was about Combeferre, and about Courf’s ‘unrequited’ feelings. Grantaire knows that they are not unrequited, but has been sworn to secrecy by Ferre, and so he had just listened to Courf rant, and had made him hot chocolate when he was done. He loves Courfeyrac, he really does. He’s one of Grantaire’s best friends, and has been there for him for so long. Grantaire couldn’t imagine his life without him. But he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to live with Enjolras instead. _Probably less stressful,_ he thinks.

    Enjolras has given up trying to get everyone’s focus back to The Cause™, and has instead elected to sit down next to Grantaire, looking like an absolute _god_ in a tight red t-shirt and dark jeans. Grantaire feels his heart hammering in his chest.

    “You’ve probably heard about this, living with Courf and all,” Enjolras says. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

    “Holy crap, he won’t shut up about it. It’s his pride and joy. He thinks it will finally make Ferre notice him? I don’t know how, something about his ‘sick moves’ or whatever.”

    “I can’t believe he’s so oblivious. Combeferre won’t shut up about him. It’s kinda obvious how in love they are.” Grantaire manages a quiet “Yeah” in response.How can Enjolras be such a hypocrite? He knows he isn’t slick at all, he’s been told so numerous times by Feuilly. After the first week he’d known Feuilly, he’d cornered Grantaire and asked if he had a thing for Enjolras. Grantaire’s blushing face had made it incredibly obvious what the answer was. If Feuilly had noticed after a week, how had Enjolras not noticed after _seventeen years?_ It was beyond him.

    Let’s see what Enjolras is feeling, shall we?

    He doesn’t know about these thoughts whirring through Grantaire’s mind, he only knows that Grantaire went suddenly quiet when he mentioned how oblivious Courf was to Ferre’s obsession- oh no. Was Grantaire in love with Combeferre? Enjolras feels sick. He’s tried to ignore his feelings for Grantaire for so long, he thought he had succeeded, but obviously not. He’d thought that maybe Grantaire felt the same way, but that was obviously not the case.

    Oh Enjolras, you oblivious fool.

    Grantaire is now deep in a conversation with Marius about his idiocy in how he asked out Cosette for the first time. Cosette is laughing next to them, while Eponine looks disgruntled.

    “I’m going back to my apartment,” he proclaims. Courf and Ferre look up, surprise turning into understanding when they see the look on his face.

    “We’ll go with you,” Ferre says. They excuse themselves, and head out.

    “Enj,” Courf says hesitantly once they’re outside. “D’you maybe want to go to my apartment? It’s closer,” Enjolras _really_ does not want to go to the place where Grantaire lives, where he _showers_ for god’s sake, but he agrees. Courfeyrac looks thankful he won’t have to be outside in the freezing weather for much longer, and immediately starts rambling about his latest Amazon order. While he takes a breath, Ferre whispers to Enjolras.

    “Is this about Grantaire?” Enjolras nods. Ferre pokes Courf. “I was right! It’s a… code fuschia?”

    “Disco party emergency? It doesn’t really seem like it, Ferre…”

    “No- what’s the one with Grantaire?”

    “Code crimson- duh.” Combeferre rolls his eyes, but Enjolras sees the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Courf immediately relocates to Enjolras’s other side.

    “So what’s the matter with R?” he asks. Enjolras sighs.

    “I just- he obviously doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him, and why would he? I only realized my feelings a few weeks ago. Any chance I ever had is probably gone…” Enjolras looks at his sneakers.

    Enjolras, you lovestruck idiot, if you weren’t looking at the ground right now, you would notice the _exceedingly_ obvious glance that Courf and Ferre shoot each other.

    “Maybe… you could try making it more obvious that you like him?” Combeferre suggests. “His self-esteem isn’t the best… “

    “No, Ferre, that isn’t the issue,” Enjolras snaps. “I think he likes _you_ , okay?” There is silence for a moment, then Combeferre bursts out laughing. Courfeyrac does too.

    “Enj _trust me,_ Grantaire does _not_ have feelings for me.”

    “How do you know for sure?”

    “Trust us,” Courfeyrac says, still snickering. “He likes someone else, not Combeferre.”

They’ve reached Courfeyrac’s apartment now, and Courfeyrac cheerfully opens the door, leading them into the living room, which has been decorated with fairy lights. A few sketchbooks have been stacked on the coffee table, with a MacBook resting on top of them. Enjolras immediately recognizes the MacBook as Courfeyrac’s. Granted, it isn’t difficult due to the giant I♥️NYC sticker that Courf has put over his bright pink protective case. He’d bought the sticker when he first moved to the city, as testimony to how much he loved it. Enjolras had been there when he had solemnly stuck it to the top of his MacBook, promising to never abandon New York.

    “Courf,” Enjolras says, crossing over to the coffee table. “You should put the computer on the table, it isn’t safe to have it on top of stuff all stacked up like-” he cuts himself off. He’s lifted the computer to put it safely on the coffee table, but Grantaire’s sketchbook had been left open.

    Enjolras is staring at his face, looking up at him from the pages of the book. It doesn’t look done, there are still some details missing around the nose, and only part of his head has hair, but it is without a doubt the most beautiful thing Enjolras has ever seen. The love and care with which Grantaire had drawn this was undeniable. Enjolras finds himself holding back tears.

    Courf and Ferre are unaware of this. Courf has set to work making coffee, which for Courf basically means a teaspoon of actual coffee and a truckload of milk and sugar. He walks into the kitchen, holding the sketchbook.

    “... and that’s why I ended up buying the red skinny jeans, just to show off my fabulousness to that lady, I can’t _believe_ she thought I couldn’t make them work. Of _course_ I can make them work, I’m _me._ But really, I’m regretting not buying the black ones too, only I already have like two pairs of black skinny jeans, but one more pair couldn’t have hurt…” Courf finishes his story, staring thoughtfully into his mug. Ferre notices Enjolras standing there, and tears his eyes away from Courf, whom he had been gazing at adoringly. Then he notices the sketchbook, and his eyes grow wide. He nudges Courf. Courf looks up, and when he notices what is drawn on the sketchbook, he laughs.

    “I _knew_ this would happen!” he says gleefully. He grabs his phone, and taps in a number

    “Jehan you owe me fifty bucks!” He pauses. “Yes, just now… I know! I know! I’m going to try… I mean, yeah, obviously… okay I’ve gotta blast bye! Love ya!” Ferre bristles slightly at the casual “Love ya” but slaps a smile back on his face when Courf looks up, grinning hugely.

    “I just won fifty dollars, I _knew_ something like this would happen!” Enjolras is so confused.

    “But… does Grantaire… he… does he?... “ Courf nods. Ferre pulls Enjolras aside.

    “Enjolras, Grantaire has feelings for you. But whatever you decide to do with that knowledge now, _please_ try and take his feelings into consideration. I know you feel the same way, but you can be very impulsive, and Grantaire might believe that you’re pranking him. He… puts you on a bit of a pedestal, and it might be difficult to believe that you actually feel the same way towards him that he does towards you. Okay?” Enjolras nods. Combeferre smiles. “Good. I care about both of you, and I don’t want to see you guys not get together because of something dumb.”

    “Go find him! Hurry! Or I lose twenty bucks!” Courf shrieks from behind them. “I bet that you would be there within the hour!” He grabs Enjolras by the sleeve, and pulls him out the door so that they’re both running at top speed towards the Musain.

They arrive, and Grantaire is still there. He looks surprisingly sober. When he sees Enjolras, he smiles.

“Hey Enj! I was wondering where you were.”

“I was- I-” Enjolras catches his breath. “I was at your apartment. Courf and Ferre… told me some stuff, some… feelings you had for me, and… I wanted to say…” Grantaire looks ashen. Before Enjolras can get out another word (his breath isn’t fully back yet) he is running out the door. Courf groans, and buries his head in his hands.

“You guys were _so close…_ Come on Enj, we can do it! We can get there in like 5 minutes if we run fast enough… And then you can date R and maybe Ferre will realize how into me he is and then we can date and we can go on double dates and we can be everyone’s favorite couple duo and people can groan about how sickeningly sweet we are! Don’t you want that?” Enjolras _does_ want that, actually, wants that more than he knows, and Courf sees this written on his face, and yanks him out the door and back into the night.

It’s been a little while since we visited Grantaire. Let’s see what’s going on in his mind, shall we?

Grantaire is running as fast as he can to his apartment. He cannot _believe_ Courf and Ferre actually _told_ Enjolras about his feelings. He’s cursing at himself in his mind, cursing his stupidity. _Why_ would he tell his friends about his feelings? _Why_ would he let himself believe, even for a moment, that they were reciprocated? He doesn’t want to throw away so many years of amazing friendship just because he has a crush on his best friend. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he slows down outside his apartment building. Then, the tears really start to fall. He wipes them away, and runs up the stairs, relishing the burn in his legs.

He’s going to be _done_ thinking about Enjolras like this. He’ll think of some way to explain it, laugh it off so things can go back to normal. He’ll bury his feelings deep down inside him, and maybe if he tries hard enough, eventually they’ll go away for good. He flings open the door, ignoring a bewildered Combeferre ( _why_ do his friends always seem to materialize in his apartment? How many spare keys can Courfeyrac possibly have?) and runs to his bedroom.

His bedroom doubles as his art studio, and it’s where he keeps his paintings, his drawings, his watercolors. Most of them are of Enjolras, and he sets to work. He grabs the nearest canvas and begins to rip it, basking in the destruction of so many hours of painstaking work. He tries _so hard_ on each one, and they never look good enough. He rips the canvas, banging the frame on the floor, until he collapses, a mess.

He doesn’t know why he is this upset. Maybe it’s because, until now, he’s been able to hold out hope that Enjolras might possibly feel the same way. But the tone that Enjolras had, the hesitation… that spoke louder than words. He’s in love with Enjolras. He’s known it since he first laid eyes on him so many years ago. And when the love of your life doesn’t love you back, it rips your heart into shreds. Somehow, destroying these paintings, these semblances of hope that Enjolras might one day love him, makes him feel slightly better.

The apartment door bangs open, and Grantaire shoots to his feet. He goes to the door of his room, and peers out into the hall. He sees a golden halo, and his heart flutters, but catches itself halfway through and sinks like a stone.

Enjolras pulls his arm from Courfeyrac’s and runs down the hallway, stopping just short of Grantaire’s room. His takes in Grantaire’s red eyes, his mussed hair. His eyes fill with pity. Pity for the man who loves someone who can never love him back. Pity for the man who is now about to lose his best friend. Grantaire makes to slam the door, but Enjolras holds it open. He’s stronger than he looks.

“Grantaire- _please_ -” he’s out of breath, he’s been running, did he run all the way here? Grantaire wonders this, but his thoughts make him weaker, and Enjolras manages to push the door open and step into the room. His eyes go wide, taking everything in. The paintings, stacked along the wall. The sketchbooks, all open to various pages, for reference. The watercolors that have been carelessly tossed aside, crumpled because they weren’t good enough. All of him.

He turns to Grantaire, who looks like he wants to die right here and now.

“Grantaire… did you do all of this?” Grantaire nods. No use lying now, not when the truth is literally right in front of them. Enjolras looks like he doesn’t know what to do. But then he does.

He grabs Grantaire and kisses him, full on the lips. It’s fiery and passionate and it’s _Enjolras kissing him_ and he should really be kissing back and so he does. It’s over far too soon, but they both need to breathe, after all. Enjolras rests his forehead against Grantaire’s and laughs a little.

“I- I have no words,” he says. Grantaire snorts.

“That’s a first.”

“R, be serious.”

“I’m wild Enj, you know that.”

“You- you’re amazing. All this art- it was never good enough for you, was it?”

“It never compared to the real thing.”

“I wanted to say- earlier, Grantaire, I think I’m in love with you.” Grantaire blinks slowly, processing. He laughs a little, and shakes his head. His mood has changed so much in the past minute. He needs time to catch up.

“Do you- reciprocate?” Enjolras looks so nervous.

“All this time you thought Courf and Ferre were so oblivious…” he laughs and shakes his head. “Yes, I reciprocate. More than you know.” He hears a sniff, and turns around to see Combeferre, with his arm around Courfeyrac, who has tears running down his face.

    “What the _hell_ Courfeyrac?!” Grantaire is half pissed and half too happy to be pissed about anything ever again. “Were you and Ferre just standing there like creeps?”

    “No,” Courfeyrac says in a choked voice, wiping his eyes. “Just me. Ferre heard me crying and came to see what happened. I’m sorry, it’s just- it’s so freaking _cute_ !” And he dissolves once again into a mess of tears. Grantaire rolls his eyes, but, glancing at Combeferre, he can see that Combeferre is a little teary too. Grantaire laughs at the sheer stupidity of their friends, kissing Enjolras again- _holy crap he can just do this whenever he wants now just kiss Enjolras whenever he feels like it-_ and when they break away, Enjolras looks happier than Grantaire has ever seen him, and that makes his heart melt.

    “So,” he says, and he doesn’t care that there is an audience. “Now that we’ve declared our love for each other and made out and all do you maybe want to go on a date sometime?” Enjolras laughs.

    “Yes,” he says “I really want that.”

    “Good,” Grantaire smirks. He turns their two friends standing in the doorway and loudly says “Maybe we can make it a double date once these two idiots finally _suck it up_ and tell each other how madly in love they are.” Enjolras laughs again, and Grantaire relishes in it because it was _he,_ Grantaire, who made him laugh, _he,_ Grantaire whom Enjolras has agreed to go out with, whom Enjolras has kissed.

    From their position in the doorway, both Ferre and Courf look at each other, blush, and then look at each other again, this time holding each other’s gaze. Finally, Combeferre murmurs something that sounds like “You got this Ferre” and presses his lips to Courfeyrac’s, who eagerly kisses back.

    Grantaire and Enjolras maneuver their way through the doorway and back into Grantaire’s living room, where they flop onto the couch, Enjolras snuggling close into Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire runs a hand through Enjolras’s curls, and marvels at how lucky he is.

    “D’you want to watch Netflix?” he asks Enjolras hesitantly. Enjolras nods, and curls closer in to Grantaire, lifting his head up to kiss Grantaire on the nose as he does so. Grantaire smiles, and they fall asleep like that.

    In the morning, their phones will have over two hundred messages from their friends, because Courfeyrac will have sent their group chat a picture of the two of them cuddling. But, I suspect that neither of them will mind too much.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and suggestions! They are my life! I wrote this fic in literally a day, so if it's bad, I'm sorry!


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